Erasing Harm = Violence
This column is in response to, “Stereotypes and labels are lazy, wrong,” authored by a white woman who described using the name Karen to insult people as “dangerous.” Of course, the audacity to write that column could have only come from a Karen. This is peak Karen behavior or rather, privileged white woman behavior. I would know; I’m a privileged white woman too.
I agree that word choice matters. The statement, “I don't want [people] to have a preconceived, negative impression of me that could possibly put me in harm's way,” is inconceivably obtuse in a moment where state-sanctioned violence against Black people is practically a daily occurrence. Describing how it feels to be called a Karen as “a gut punch” erases the actual violence that Black folks and people of color regularly experience. No one is physically punching Karen in the stomach. Her word choice is an example of white fragility, re-centering the victimization of a person being harmed to the person causing harm.
As white women, one of the worst things we can do is not acknowledge our proximity to racial power rooted in white nationalism and white supremacy, and how our whiteness benefits us. White privilege is not simply how much money we have or how many obstacles we face. It is the preferential treatment we receive from society and the institutionalized systems we operate within (Sharon Martinas, “What is White Privilege?”). To declare that you do not have privilege because you do not come from money is once again denying the access and advantages we are granted simply because we are white.
Admitting our faults and owning the harm we have caused as white women is an integral step in moving toward a more just and equitable society. One of my own most public blunders was in 2018 when I helped lead a women-centric community conversation where each table had a different host and discussion topic, and in front of hundreds of attendees, I boldly proclaimed, “I want to talk about social justice at my table. I want to lead an organization dedicated to advocacy.” The women who chose to sit at my table—all Black women, several of which were activists—spent the next hour and a half questioning me, calling me out, educating me, and putting me in my rightful place. I was mortified, and in that moment I was unable to acknowledge all of the emotional labor they had poured into me.
The next day I confided in a friend, describing what had happened and how it made me feel. He listened patiently and with restrained politeness, he replied, “That discomfort that you felt for ninety minutes—multiply that feeling by 100, feel it 24 hours a day, and then maybe you have a sliver of an understanding of what it feels like to be a person of color.” Which of course, he was. More embarrassment, and more free labor.
These moments of shame you and I have described in our respective columns, Karen, are just that: moments. We can either reflect and learn from them (which is a privilege) or weaponize them and center ourselves (which both of us have done by writing these columns). Describing the emotional strain you feel because your name is a stereotype is nothing compared to the physical violence people of color experience because of their skin tone. No one is name shaming you. They are shaming the entitled behavior that empowered you to write a column complaining about being perceived as racist.
As white women, we must do better with our words and our actions. Instead of commiserating about our bad reputations, Karen, I invite you to take action with me. In 2019 Rhiannon Childs and I co-founded the Ohio Women’s Alliance, a nonprofit dedicated to resourcing, connecting, and investing in womxn leading local movements across Ohio. Rhiannon is also the Executive Director of our advocacy organization, the Ohio Women’s Alliance Action Fund. You can support her time and labor here. She is one of the Black female activists who was sitting at my table.
If you would like to publish this letter, please contact Erin Scott at erin@ohiowomensalliance.org.